


Meeting the Enjolrases

by KChan88



Series: Sailing By Orion's Star: Deleted Scenes [9]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Gen, Period-Typical Racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 08:03:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8570800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KChan88/pseuds/KChan88
Summary: A few months after Combeferre moves to Port Royal to live with Arthur, Chantal comes for a visit, meeting the Enjolrases for the first time.





	

**Port Royal. 1697.**

“Are you certain about this?” Chantal asks, sitting on the side of Arthur’s bed, feet resting on the wood, toying with the edge of her long braid.

“Certain about what, darling?” Arthur asks sliding on his coat and straightening it, looking over to smile at her.

“About me meeting…Michel,” she says, the almost saying _Captain Enjolras_ instead. “And his family.”

Arthur tilts his head, concerned, joining her on the bed and slipping an arm around her waist.

“Of course,” Arthur says, and when she looks at the light in his brown eyes, she cannot help but smile in return. “Michel is my oldest, dearest friend, and I’ve wanted you to meet him for a long time. His son is my godson and now a close companion of Frantz. It only seems natural that all the people I love should know each other. I also think you’ll like his wife Astra; she suffers no nonsense but is very kind when you know her.”

“I…” Chantal tries, understanding Arthur’s intent, but still feeling unsure. “I know Michel held some opinions about your relationship with me.”

Arthur furrows his brow, pulling her closer until her head rests on his shoulder.

“Michel worries over breaking convention even if he doesn’t necessarily agree with the convention itself,” Arthur explains. “But he knows how much I love you, and he loves our son. I’m sure it will be all right, but if you’d rather not I would not force to anything.”

“No, no,” Chantal says. “I only….he is a powerful, wealthy East India captain, son in law to the governor of Jamaica, and I am, well. Me.”

“None of that matters…” Arthur tries to say.

“Arthur you know it does,” Chantal says, looking at him. “It is why we cannot marry. It is why we are separated so you can keep your job and the good will of your family so we might better provide for Frantz. It is why people glare at us in the street when you dare so much as take my hand. They assume me your slave or your servant. Not the woman you could love.”

“I know,” Arthur says, voice growing sad. “I know, Chantal, I don’t mean to lessen the seriousness of those things. But I swear, in this case it matters less. Michel loves me and so will love you. And Rene has talked so much of meeting you after hearing from Frantz. If anything, I know you will enjoy that. And if you grow uncomfortable we can go, I promise.”

He looks at her, hopeful, and she kisses him response. He laughs into the gesture as he returns it, and then the door to the bedroom swings open, Combeferre running in with glee in his voice.

“What are you doing?” he asks, already dressed.

“Telling your mother I love her very much,” Arthur says, getting up from the bed and seizing Combeferre, picking him up before spinning around in a circle. Combeferre laughs, the sound undoing some of the knots in Chantal’s chest.

“Papa you’re making me dizzy,” Combeferre protests, still laughing.

“Oh, sorry,” Arthur says, setting him down. “You’re all ready to go, I see.”

“Yes,” Combeferre says. “I’m quite excited for Maman to meet Rene, especially!”

“I’m excited to meet him too my darling,” Chantal says, reaching out to tousle his curls. “You talk of nothing but your maps and him lately in your letters it would seem,” she teases.

“I’m sure I talk about plenty,” Combeferre mumbles, smiling sheepishly at her, his eyes running over her dress. “You look fancy today, Maman.”

“Oh, well,” Chantal says, gazing down at her dark green dress, different from her usual long skirt and shirt combination she wears at home unless she’s meeting with important customers. “It’s a special day, isn’t it? Seemed the occasion called for it.”

“Oh,” Combeferre says, gazing down at his own outfit, the buckle shoes freshly shined. “Do I look all right?”

“Of course,” Arthur says, reaching out to ruffle his hair, drawing laughter out of their son. “You look just fine, are you both ready to go?”

“I won’t look fine if you mess my hair, Papa,” Combeferre says, the wryness in his tone making Chantal laugh.

“Fair point son,” Arthur says, and his smile sets Chantal’s heart at least a little at ease. “Let’s go, we can walk over from here.”

They bid Arthur’s housekeeper Emily goodbye, and she gives Chantal an encouraging glance; they’d shared a cup of coffee yesterday while Chantal settled in, and she’d felt herself making a friend. It’s a ten minute walk or so to the Enjolras home, and Chantal focuses on the warmth of Arthur’s and Frantz’s hands in hers rather than the looks they receive as they go past, ranging from simple curiosity to outright disapproval.

As they approach the house on the highest hill in Port Royal, Chantal releases a gaps when they walk through the open gate. There’s only two floors, but the number of rooms is obvious, and she spies a servants’ wing as well.

“Good lord,” she says, holding Arthur’s hand tighter. “I didn’t realize it would be quite so large. There’s only three of them. Your house is quite spacious but this is…different.” She pauses, alarm flaring in her heart, but she keeps it out of her voice for Frantz’s sake. “Do they keep slaves here?”

“No,” Arthur says, pulling her hand closer. “Michel’s father in law does, but I made sure he was out of town before I arranged this.”

“Rene’s grandfather is rude,” Combeferre says, solemn, but he reaches out a hand, clasping his mother’s forearm. “But Captain and Madam Enjolras are friendly Maman, I promise.” There’s empathy in his eyes as he looks at her, an understanding of her fears that goes deep for an eight-year-old. But an eight-year-old who, she reminds herself, has already experienced pain because of society’s problem with his skin and his parents’ defiance of norms.

Chantal’s next words are cut off by the sound of the door opening, and she turns, seeing a small blond boy dashing out the door in a set of what must be his best clothes, though his hair falls out of tie in his enthusiasm. He runs directly toward them then stops in his tracks, realizing himself.

“You’re here,” he says, sounding shy now, but there’s a charm in his expression, a smile forming on his lips.

“So we are,” Arthur says, squatting down by Rene’s side and gesturing at Chantal. “Rene, this is Frantz’s mother Chantal.”

“Hello,” Enjolras says, bowing slightly as he’s no doubt been taught, and Chantal curtsies in return, then puts her hand out for the little boy to shake.

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you Rene,” Chantal says. “I’ve heard nothing but wonderful things about you in my son’s letters.”

“I’ve wanted to meet you too,” Enjolras says. “Frantz is the best friend I’ve ever had, and he tells me so much about your life in Saint-Domingue.”

“I hear you’re quite talented with a wooden sword?” Chantal says, warming to him already. “Sounds like you might be quite the sailor one day.”

“I hope so,” Enjolras says, brightening. “But Frantz will too, he knows maps so well and Lieutenant Combeferre says he’s going to teach him how to do navigation.”

“So he is,” Chantal answers. “I think they share an affinity and a talent for it.”

Chantal looks up at the sound of more footsteps, seeing a woman step out the door, looking a bit abashed and walking toward them. She looks somewhat like the porcelain dolls Chantal’s seen in the store windows, but when she smiles down at her son the feeling of cold, fragile beauty breaks, replaced with warmth and a well of strength from somewhere within.

“Rene,” she chides. “You were supposed to wait for us.”

“Sorry Mama I was excited,” Enjolras explains, and Astra laughs before looking up at Chantal, reaching out her hand first.

“You must be Chantal,” she says, as Chantal shakes her hand. “I’m Astra, it’s such a pleasure to meet you. We’ve heard so much from Arthur and Frantz.”

Some of the awkwardness returns when they let go, both acknowledging the differences in their circumstances, but eagerness remains in Astra’s expression, and Chantal smiles at her, eyes flitting over to the third figure emerging from the front door. Michel Enjolras stands about two inches taller than Arthur, she thinks, his posture utterly straight, his clothing immaculate, steps firm against the gravel. Rene is a perfect meld of his parents, Chantal thinks, though his eyes are his father’s just like Frantz’s are Arthurs even if he largely looks like her.

“There you are Michel,” Arthur says, voice a little thinner than normal as he shoves out some of his nerves.

“Couldn’t quite keep up with these two,” Michel says, a small smile breaking through the polite expression on his face. His eyes linger on Arthur for a moment before he turns to Chantal.

“I am honored to finally properly meet you,” Michel says, taking her hand and kissing it lightly. “I hope your journey was pleasant?”

“The waters were a bit rough but nothing too bad,” Chantal says, drawing back her hand and curtseying, trying to cut the slight shaking from her voice. “I’m honored to meet you as well, Captain Enjolras.”

He smiles at her, hands folded behind his back, and though there’s no malice in his gaze, it’s clear he feels awkward, trapped by the convention Arthur mentioned earlier, still unsure of his friend’s choices and their impacts.

Chantal wants to give him a chance.

But even if he doesn’t participate in the slave trade now, she wonders how long that will last; his personal dislike of it might not keep him from doing as ordered. Arthur’s sworn to leave East India if they’re asked to transport slaves, but even that is complicated; the money he makes he largely sends to them on Saint-Domingue and while he lives on family money. His quitting would cut into that, and though her business does well enough, she wants the best for Frantz, but she also couldn’t ever accept the money if she knew it came from the slave trade. She closes her eyes, breathing out. She doesn’t know what will happen yet, and she must focus on the moment in front her. Resiliency has always been her strong suit, and this is no exception. She watches Michel mimic Arthur’s earlier movement, squatting down between the two boys but looking less natural doing so.

“How about the two of you go help Mrs. Hudson see to the settings, hmm?” he asks, his smile more genuine and less nervous. “I think she’d appreciate it, and we’ll be right in.”

Both boys nod with great enthusiasm, and Chantal watches Frantz take Rene’s hand before dashing toward the front door, feeling at home in this house against all odds, neither of them concerned yet, that the world would do whatever it could to separate them.

“It’s only been three months and they really are the best of friends,” Chantal says without really realizing she was speaking aloud.

“Rather attached at the hip,” Michel comments, a glimmer of light in his eyes, his words less stiff. “It was what we’d hoped for, I admit.”

“They took our lead,” Arthur says, clasping Michel’s shoulder and looking over at Chantal, hopeful. She knows how much he cares about Michel, and one of the things she loves most about Arthur is the bright world he sees ahead. She sees that world too, believes it could happen, but sometimes she worries that he underestimates the obstacles they face to reach it, worries that he underestimates even his dear friend’s ability to stand up for what’s right when faced with challenge.

But still, Michel was kind to Frantz, she tells herself. He loves her son, he approves of his Rene’s close relationship with him.

Arthur trusts him.

Oh she _wants_ to.

But she’s not sure she can.

“Well no need to stand outside here,” Astra says, sensing Chantal’s discomfort and offering her arm. “We can have some wine while we wait on dinner and let the boys play together.”

Chantal accepts her arm, looking back at Arthur and Michel behind them, something about Michel’s expression striking her; he looks at Arthur with a kind of desperation she’s not even sure he realizes, a feeling in his eyes she recognizes within herself. That the two men are like brothers, friends who would do anything for one another, she knows. But she also senses something else in Michel’s gaze, something she’s not sure he’s even aware of. It’s less so something deeper than what’s already there, but something different, perhaps. Something unacceptable to society. Arthur doesn’t seem to sense it, slipping his arm through his friend’s as usual, catching Chantal’s eyes as she looks back and mouthing a silent _I love you_.

She turns back toward Astra, who looks shy but still eager. Their lives could not be more different, yet Chantal feels a sort of kinship emanating from the other woman, even if she doesn’t know why.

“I’m truly glad to meet you,” Astra says, words soft. “I know…well I know it must have been nerve-wracking coming here, if I may say so. But I know Frantz is glad to have you.”

“Thank you,” Chantal says, feeling some of the tension in her shoulders ease. “From what I’ve heard, you have been very kind to Frantz, and I…well I appreciate that.”

“He is a smart, compassionate little boy,” Astra says. “And I know he misses you. So I do what I can to help. And he and Rene love each other already.”

“So they do,” Chantal says, an odd sense of foreboding striking her as they step inside the foyer, creating a dissonance with the warmth at the mention of the friendship between the two boys. “So they do.”


End file.
